| It was always me vs the world
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| Until I found it’s me vs me
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| Why, why, why, why?
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| Why, why, why, why?
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| Just remember, what happens on Earth stays on Earth
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| We gon' put it in reverse
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| Darling, I told you many times
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| And I am telling you once again
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| Just to remind you, sweetheart
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| That my…
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| Oh Lamar, Hail Mary and marijuana, times is hard
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| Pray with the hooligans, shadows all in the dark
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| Fellowship with demons and relatives, I’m a star
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| Life is one funny mothafucka
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| A true comedian, you gotta love him, you gotta trust him
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| I might be buggin', infomercials and no sleep
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| Introverted by my thoughts; |
| children, listen, it gets deep
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| See, once upon a time inside the Nickerson Garden projects
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| The object was to process and digest poverty’s dialect
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| Adaptation inevitable: gun violence, crack spot
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| Federal policies raid buildings and drug professionals
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| Anthony was the oldest of seven
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| Well-respected, calm and collected
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| Laughin' and jokin' made life easier; |
| hard times, Momma on crack
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| A four-year-old tellin' his nanny he needed her
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| His family history: pimpin' and bangin'
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| He was meant to be dangerous
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| Clocked him a grip and start slangin'
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| Fifteen, scrapin' up his jeans with quarter pieces
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| Even got some head from a smoker last weekend
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| Dodged a policeman, workin' for his big homie
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| Small-time hustler, graduated to a brick on him
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| 10,000 dollars out of a project housing, that’s on the daily
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| Seen his first mil twenty years old, had a couple of babies
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| Had a couple of shooters
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| Caught a murder case, fingerprints on the gun they assumin'
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| But witnesses couldn’t prove it
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| That was back when he turned his back and they killed his cousin
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| He beat the case and went back to hustlin'
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| Bird-shufflin', Anthony rang
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| The first in the projects with the two-tone Mustang
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| That 5.0 thing, they say 5−0 came
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| Circlin' parking lots and parking spots
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| And hoppin' out while harrassin' the corner blocks
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| Crooked cops told Anthony he should kick it
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| He brushed 'em off and walked back to the Kentucky Fried Chicken
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| See, at this chicken spot
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| There was a light-skinned nigga that talked a lot
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| With a curly top and a gap in his teeth
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| He worked the window, his name was Ducky
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| He came from the streets, the Robert Taylor Homes
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| Southside Projects, Chiraq, the Terror Dome
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| Drove to California with a woman on him and 500 dollars
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| They had a son, hopin' that he’d see college
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| Hustlin' on the side with a nine-to-five to freak it
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| Cadillac Seville, he’d ride his son around on weekends
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| Three-piece special with his name on the shirt pocket
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| 'Cross the street from the projects, Anthony planned to rob it
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| Stuck up the place before, back in '84
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| That’s when affiliation was really eight gears of war
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| So many relatives tellin' us, sellin' us devilish works
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| Killin' us, crime, intelligent, felonious
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| Prevalent proposition with 9's
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| Ducky was well-aware
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| They robbed the manager and shot a customer last year
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| He figured he’d get on these niggas' good sides
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| Free chicken every time Anthony posted in line
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| Two extra biscuits, Anthony liked him and then let him slide
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| They didn’t kill him; |
| in fact, it look like they’re the last to survive
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| Pay attention, that one decision changed both of they lives
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| One curse at a time
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| Reverse the manifest and good karma, and I’ll tell you why
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| You take two strangers and put 'em in random predicaments
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| Give 'em a soul so they can make their own choices and live with it
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| Twenty years later, them same strangers, you make 'em meet again
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| Inside recording studios where they reapin' their benefits
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| Then you start remindin' them about that chicken incident
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| Whoever thought the greatest rapper would be from coincidence?
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| Because if Anthony killed Ducky, Top Dawg could be servin' life
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| While I grew up without a father and die in a gunfight
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| So, I was takin' a walk the other day… |